Three Weeks
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: Harry Potter and Carlisle Cullen find themselves sharing a cabin in the woods for a few weeks. CROSSOVER SLASH Carlisle/Harry


**Note to Readers: I know that I haven't written anything in forever. I am very sorry. There is nothing I can do about this. The hazy days of my adolescence that made it so easy for me to dedicate my energies to creative pursuits are passed. Now I have only stolen sips of air between sprints of reality. The occasional puff of writing will have to suffice. **

**Also, I know a lot of you are very anti-smoking. So am I. I just happen to like using it as a character flaw. It's neater, milder, and more legal than drugs while still possessing the connotations of instability and loss. **

~000~

**Three Weeks**

**~000~**

It was past eleven o'clock when Harry went out, and the walk was not premeditated. He was very cold but after walking for five minutes, he no longer minded. His breath, coming fast, made little white clouds in the freezing atmosphere. At the top of a ridge he paused to catch his breath and admire the stars. The sky was not often clear in Washington State. The climate was unlike anything he thought he would become accustomed to when he first arrived in this part of America, but here he was, six months later.

He thought about renewing his lease, as he had thought for much of the day, and then made himself stop. It was a beautiful night and he didn't want to ruin the beauty around him with mundane considerations. Unwillingly, he found himself thinking of why he had come here in the first place.

It had been six months since Ginny came half-stepping down the shallow stairs of their home with a suitcase in each hand. She hadn't bothered to put on a brave face, even though _she_ was the one leaving _him_. Twin streaks of painful pink tears diagonally marked her freckled cheeks. As she fumbled to remove the house key from her key-ring, she wouldn't (or maybe couldn't) meet his eyes.

He reached into his pocket, intending to smoke a cigarette, but decided against it. He didn't need a cigarette, and it was a disgusting habit. He had started during the War, quit afterwards, and vowed that he would never let a habit control him like that again. But here he was, smoking again. Maybe he really was a hypocrite, like she'd said. Angry now, he shoved his hand into his pocket and roughly removed a cigarette, nearly tearing it in half. He lit it with a snap of his fingers and stood there puffing away until he calmed down.

It had been six months already, and he was still angry. It was six months since she'd walked out on him, and he walked out on life. He quit his job two weeks after their separation, sold the house for a song, and left England. He transferred all of his funds to America and became a citizen via the available Magical channels. He served her the divorce papers, and after a tense month of waiting, she signed them. Ron made a special trip to Colorado, where he had been living three months ago just to punch him in the face. That was typical of Ron; he was thirty-three years old, and he still didn't know how to stop and think before he let his temper get the best of him.

Harry sighed and finished his cigarette, reflecting that if he never set foot in England again it would be too soon.

He still wasn't entirely sure why he was so devastated by the divorce. Their marriage was over almost before it began. They were fighting about anything and everything every chance they got. It was a miracle that their marriage lasted nine miserable years.

He walked to the edge of the ridge and looked down at the valley made by the mountains, smoking in silence, until he felt calm. He banished his third cigarette rather than litter the landscape with its sickly ashes. He turned to return the way he'd come, careful of where he stepped. The ground was slick with damp from an earlier rainfall.

The house he was renting was surrounded by pine trees and there was no grass beneath the trees. It was a bit large for one person, but it was the remotest cabin he could find.

He hadn't bothered to lock the door when he'd left, assuming that no one would bother him. There were enough animal-repelling charms around the property to raise the eyebrows of the American Magical Regulatory Association (AMRA), and the nearest human being was miles away.

The above conditions notwithstanding, there was a strange man inspecting his refrigerator when he opened the front door. The man whirled around, looking startled and guilty. Harry frowned, attempting to feel angry about the intrusion and failing. He was too worn out from his walk.

The stranger was tall, blonde, and dressed in expensive hiking gear. Harry knew that it was expensive because he had once met the designer at a charity auction several years ago. It had not been a pleasant experience. The man was beyond attractive, possessed with the kind of looks plastic surgeons around the world attempt to replicate without success.

When the stranger made no move to explain himself, Harry took the initiative.

"Well, what the hell are you doing in my house?"

The man looked sheepish, and replaced the jar of pickles he'd been eyeing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I used to rent this place every year; I spoke to the landlord a few days ago and he said that there was already a renter, but that you might not mind if I stayed here for three weeks if I paid for my room and board. So I came down here, but the hike took longer than I was expecting, and the lights were off, so I thought that maybe you were camping outside tonight. I tried the door, and literally just stepped in when you got back.

"If you don't believe me, the landlord said that he would call you and let you know that I was coming."

Harry frowned. He crossed the room to the phone, keeping his front to the stranger. The little orange light was flashing, signaling that there was indeed a message waiting; he must have missed it that morning while he was out chopping wood for the fireplace. He played it. His landlord's unique rasp of a voice described a blonde man named Carlisle Cullen that would be coming by to ask him about staying for a few weeks, and warned him that the telephone lines would probably be down at the end of the month when the weather worsened.

He turned off the machine and asked to see some identification. Carlisle dug into his pocket and removed his wallet, tossing it across the kitchen table. Harry caught it easily and opened the wallet, keeping his eyes on Carlisle. He made sure that he didn't take his eyes off of his guest for more than a second or two as he examined the driver's license inside. He subtly cast charms to verify its integrity. The tests were positive, and the license did indeed belong to a Carlisle Cullen that looked like the man in his kitchen.

He tossed the wallet back.

"Sorry for the interrogation, but the world is full of creeps and you can never be too careful. You have my permission to stay here for the next three weeks if you meet my conditions. Good so far?"

Carlisle nodded, "Of course."

"I am not here to make friends or "connect" with anyone. I'm going through a shitty patch, and I would prefer to be left alone. This is not a charity; I expect you to pay for your own food, and I think it is reasonable to ask you to pay $20 for each night you stay here. If you fail to meet any of these conditions, I reserve the right to kick you out without a refund. If you can't afford $20 a night, which I doubt judging by the looks of your wallet, I am willing to work out some kind of labor trade."

Carlisle didn't take long to make a decision. He extended his hand to shake. It was a graceful long-fingered hand, and very cold to the touch. Harry mustered a faint, polite smile. Carlisle smiled back, and the smile transformed his attractive face into something with a touch of the feral to it. Harry met his eyes and noted their amber color.

Was this man a werewolf? It would explain why he only wanted to stay three weeks rather than four, and the full man had passed just two nights previously. Harry withdrew his hand and gestured to the fridge.

"I am guessing that you didn't bring anything substantial to eat with you. You can help yourself to something tonight, on me. Tomorrow you'll have to get your own, or we can negotiate some kind of arrangement. If there is an emergency, I am in the beige bedroom."

Harry was halfway down the hall when he heard Carlisle following. He paused when Carlisle asked,

"What time will you be awake tomorrow?"

"I am up at six."

"Okay, thank you."

Harry grunted and went to his bedroom.

Once inside he undressed slowly, thinking about Carlisle. His wallet had contained a hospital photo I.D. identifying him as a physician and a photo of him and nine other impossibly attractive people. Now that he thought about it, only one member of that photographed group was dark skinned, the young man standing with his arm around what appeared to a teenaged girl. The rest shared Carlisle's unusual pallor.

He sat on the edge of his bed and unlaced his boots. That was strange, because the group consisted of couples, not individuals like a family portrait. That meant that those people were not Carlisle's biological children, and yet they shared his coloring. A suspicion began to take the shape of a theory. Maybe Carlisle wasn't a Werewolf…but something else entirely…

He stood and finished stripping. Naked, he fumbled through his closet until he found the shelf he'd stashed his pajamas on. The clothes were shoved in the closet any which way; he didn't plan to stay here very long, and hadn't bothered to organize his belongings.

He removed his watch and then entered the adjoining bathroom to groom. As he flossed and brushed his teeth, he mentally reviewed all of the creatures he could remember that met the characteristics of Carlisle. He dismissed all of them. The creature Carlisle most clearly resembled was a Vampire, but the color of his eyes eliminated that option.

He checked his supply of shaving cream and switched out the light, returning to the dim bedroom. He settled into bed and used the notepad he normally reserved for dreams and anxieties that kept him awake to write down some questions he could ask Carlisle over the next few days to determine what he was.

He was not afraid to have a strange creature in the house. In fact, he found it a little difficult to sleep that night from the adrenaline shuddering down his spine. He ended up reading the self-help book for divorcees that Hermione had sent him until he nodded off.

The next morning he awoke to the sound of rain. It was pitch dark outside, and cold enough to make him turn on his space heater as he dressed. He needed to do laundry soon; he was wearing his last clean shirt. That was the problem with a limited wardrobe – one was always running out of clean clothes.

Downstairs it was quiet. He supposed that Carlisle was still in bed, and made an unconscious effort to soften the necessary noises of breakfast. He started the coffee machine and placed two slices of bread in the toaster. While he waited for them to toast, he examined the content of his fridge and saw that everything was where it should be. Carlisle had not eaten anything.

He shut the fridge. He ate his toast and drank his coffee. There was still no sign of Carlisle, so he went for a walk in the rain.

As he walked, he found himself thinking about Saint John, the young Auror that Ginny hated so fervently. He smiled a little. Could she blame him for admiring him? Saint John was gorgeous, and knew it. So what if they flirted at office parties? There was never any real intent behind it, and Ginny was just as guilty as he was, if not more so. Harry had confined himself to looking, while Ginny had actually indulged in several affairs.

She said herself that she wasn't jealous of the few women he found worthy of a second glance, so that could only mean that it was Saint John's sex that bothered her. He could still remember the big fight they'd had, back when they were still dating, on New Year's Day after he jokingly kissed George instead of her.

She'd known that his sexuality was not set in stone when they started dating. He never lied to her, or claimed to be completely straight. For fuck's sake, he was dating Marcus Flint before they got serious. He paused to admire a soggy vista, and remembered the few exciting months he'd spent as Marcus' boyfriend. Late at night, he still wondered what would have happened if Marcus hadn't needed to relocate to Australia for work. He had loved Marcus intensely, and wished fervently that he had chosen to migrate with Marcus rather than complete his Auror training, even though it would have gone against the advice of everyone he knew. Maybe if he had joined Marcus in Australia, they would have…

It didn't matter now. It had been more than ten years, and he was certain that Marcus had moved on with his life. Harry began to move again, inhaling the sweet smell of the rainy air as he scaled a steep hill. He had really come to like Washington. It was rainy, sure, but the plethora of plant life that resulted from that was very appealing. He even liked the people. There weren't very many of them, and those he had met seemed subdued. He didn't know for sure, but he thought that it might be the effect of the weather.

There was someone sitting in the branches of an evergreen in his path. Harry stopped and blinked at the unexpected sight. After his surprise passed, he recognized Carlisle. He wore no rain coat, dressed instead in a pair of old-fashioned blue cotton pajamas. He wore rubber wellies on his feet. He seemed to be deep in thought.

As Harry was backing away to give him some privacy, he must have made some kind of sound because Carlisle's body jerked into motion. In the blink of an eye he had leapt from the branch and landed on his feet in front of Harry. Harry calculated the distance he had jumped as six or seven meters at least. His eyes were wide and although his expression was neutral, the way he fluttered his hands betrayed nervousness or guilt. Harry was on his guard after seeing that inhuman display, but he mustered a smile.

"Good morning. Sorry I disturbed you; I thought you were still in bed."

"I'm an insomniac."

"Are you a gymnast too? That was an impressive jump just now."

"I competed in high school and college, yes. I'm not as dedicated now, but I keep my hand in. It's a great way to stay in shape, if a little difficult to begin."

"I'll keep that in mind," he jerked his head towards the house, "Do you want to come back and work out what we're going to do about food, or do you need some more time to yourself?"

Carlisle gave a short laugh, "I think an entire night is enough alone time for now."

In the kitchen, they decided that, since Carlisle usually came up to the cabin to hunt and typically consumed his kills, he would only supplement his diet if he was unable to catch anything. Harry decided that this was fair enough, all while mentally calculating if this new information was any help in discovering what Carlisle was. He still wanted to say that he was a Vampire, and even purposefully cut his hand while making lunch to see if Carlisle gave any reaction.

It was no good. Carlisle helped him clean and bandage the cut without the slightest indication of discomfort.

Over the next few days they fell into a routine. Harry would wake at six and take a walk, and inevitably stumble across Carlisle. They would speak briefly about their plans for the day, and then separate until seven in the evening, when Carlisle would politely inform Harry in which direction he intended to hunt and when he was likely to return.

This went on for a week. Harry still became depressed at least once a day, but it seemed to be gradually lessening. He didn't know what had changed. He still spent much of the day exploring the woods and reading. Maybe it was the effect of Carlisle's good mood. It was funny, in a way. Carlisle always seemed serenely content. He wasn't gleeful or solemn, but radiated good feelings.

They barely spoke to each other and saw each other for maybe an hour every day, but Harry liked him. Carlisle, for all his commercial beauty, fit the wild landscape in a way that Harry couldn't put his finger on. Something about the long lines of his body and the color of his eyes and the way he moved blended with the primeval beauty of Washington.

One night Carlisle returned unexpectedly early. His hands were covered in blood, and there was blood all down the front of his shirt. He smiled at Harry as he entered and went immediately to the kitchen sink, where he washed his hands.

There was no blood on his face or neck, and at first Harry took this as evidence against Carlisle's vampirism. But when he entered the kitchen ostensibly to make himself a cup of tea, he saw that, while the upper half of Carlisle's face bore evidence of a day spent outside, the lower half was suspiciously lacking in specks of dirt and sweat.

Carlisle had cleaned his face before entering, but only the part from his nose down.

Carlisle caught him looking. Harry gestured at his bloody shirt.

"What happened?"

"I accidentally shot a deer. The wound was non-fatal, and because I was out of bullets, I had to slit her throat to put her out of her misery. It got kind of messy. If I tracked any blood in here, I'll clean it up."

Harry poured his water into the waiting mug of tea leaves and cream. "Don't worry about it. Where is the deer now?"

"She's outside. I was going to see if I can find enough materials to store her in the freezer. There's no way I can eat an entire deer in one day by myself, and it seems like a waste to just leave her out there for a predator to eat."

"Do you need any help?"

Carlisle shook his head, "It's been a few years, but I still remember how to skin and prepare a deer. The freezer is empty, so there should be tons of room for her once I've finished."

"A few years, huh? You don't look that old. How long have you been hunting?"

A flash of discomfort passed through Carlisle's amber eyes, "Um, that's a hard question. I don't actually remember how old I was when my father first let me shot, but I went with him for years."

"Do you still hunt together?"

"No, he passed away when I was in high school."

Harry grimaced. He knew that Carlisle was lying, but he pretended to believe him. "Sorry to bring up bad memories; I didn't know."

"It's okay. To tell you the truth, we weren't very close."

He finished washing his hands and dried them. Harry helped him find plastic bags and paper towels, and wished him luck. Carlisle gave him a salute and disappeared into the foggy night outside.

Harry watched him go and caught himself fantasizing about what would have happened if Carlisle had chosen to change his shirt in the kitchen in addition to washing his hands. When he realized what he was doing, he frowned and shook the thoughts off. Carlisle wore a wedding ring, and in the picture in his wallet he looked very happy with the beautiful brunette woman beside him.

"It's just your libido," he muttered aloud. He hadn't had sex in months now. When he first landed in America he went on a bender and woke up next to a lot of men and women whose names he didn't know. But after that he hadn't slept with anyone.

He chewed his lips. He should probably stop moping around so much. So what if his divorce meant the death of everything that he had valued in his adolescence? He had given himself time enough to mourn.

That decided it. He would not renew his lease. He planned to remain in Washington, but in a populated area instead of the wilderness. It would be good for him to get a job and meet some people. This was a chance to start a new life. All that remained of his old life in England were the letters he received from Luna, Hermione, and Neville on occasion.

Carlisle returned in an hour with his arms full of carefully-packaged venison. Harry helped him store them in the freezer, and then offered to wash his bloody clothing while Carlisle showered. Carlisle accepted and promptly stripped down to his briefs right there in the kitchen. Harry accepted the clothing with averted eyes and headed to the laundry room.

He had wanted desperately to watch Carlisle undress, but with his testosterone in its current state, there was no telling what he would do when provoked. Still, he turned his head to watch Carlisle's nearly-naked body disappear into the bathroom. He was pale all over without even a hint of a tan line, no matter how faint.

Harry sighed wistfully and went into the laundry room. Saint John had been pale like that too, like a tall glass of cold milk.

That night they sat together in the common area rather than going their separate ways. Granted, they spent it absorbed in their respective reading material, but it was the start of a new routine. Harry snuck peeks at Carlisle out of the corner of his eyes, and he was surprised to sense Carlisle doing the same. What was Carlisle thinking about when he looked at him?

Self-consciously, he smoothed a hand through his hair. It was getting a bit long, and tickled his chin when he didn't have it tucked behind his ears. He felt Carlisle give him a long look after he adjusted his hair. He almost worked up the courage to look back at him but lost his nerve.

At ten he murmured "goodnight" and went to bed. He lay wide awake, unable to sleep. There was something about those bright amber eyes that fascinated him. Now that he had gotten a better look at them, they weren't quite like the eyes of Remus and Fenrir. Their eyes had been more yellow, while Carlisle's were almost burgundy.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to think about something besides Carlisle.

~000~

Carlisle stood outside the door to Harry's bedroom, listening to his uneven breathing and the beating of his heart.

He knew that it was a violation of Harry's privacy for him to be creeping outside of his door like this without his knowledge, but he couldn't help himself. He had not been expecting to share his annual three weeks of solitude with a stranger, but he wasn't sorry.

He had been married to Esme for many years, and she knew that he needed to get away from his family and work obligations every once in a while. She even gave him unspoken permission to spend his vacation any way he liked. He had never acted on this freedom, confining his behavior to hunting, but this year he was seriously tempted.

He wasn't even sure what it was about Harry that attracted him. He had not been attracted to a man in centuries, and it had turned out badly then. Once burned, twice shy. Esme was a wonderful woman and a delightful spouse, and he loved her with all of his being. But this attraction to Harry did not feel like a betrayal of that love. Instead, it existed in some separate universe.

He closed his eyes and permitted himself to listen until Harry fell into an uneasy sleep. Then he padded into his bedroom and undressed for the evening. It was a mere formality, but one that he enjoyed. The pajamas he wore had been a gift from his granddaughter, and he wore them with pride even though they were a little snugger than he was accustomed to.

Lighting the lamp on the bedside table, he settled down with an 18th century French novel and began to read.

At three in the morning, there was a soft tap on his door. He closed the book and called, "Come in!"

The door opened a crack and Harry poked his head around it, looking sheepish.

"Hey. I guess you really are an insomniac."

Carlisle smiled. "Yeah. Can't sleep?"

"I had a nasty dream and I don't think I want to."

"Well, come in. I hate being alone after an unpleasant dream myself. You're welcome to sit with me for a while."

"Thanks."

Harry closed the door behind him and shyly approached the bed. After a moment of indecision, he sat cross-legged on it. There was a beat of silence, and then Harry asked him what he was reading. Carlisle began to tell him about the novel, not really caring what he said. The novel was alright, not particularly stirring. He could tell that harry wasn't actually interested in the book, only uneasy with the silence. Knowing this, Carlisle carefully steered the conversation away from the novel and to the subject of first current events and then Harry's personal life.

Harry was recently divorced, and a new citizen of America. He was vague about his profession, stating that he was involved in law enforcement. His manner and choice of words made Carlisle suspect that he had been in some kind of special service, but he gave no sign of this.

Instead, he watched Harry talk. His eyes were very expressive, as were his lips. Harry's face was interesting to examine; he was not conventionally handsome, but there was something about the curve of his chin and the set of his eyes that made him eye-catching.

"Did you used to wear glasses?"

Harry paused, frowned, and nodded. "How can you tell?"

"Just a guess. Did you get corrective surgery? I didn't see any contacts in the bathroom."

"Uh…yeah. An old friend of mine is an eye doctor, and she fixed me up when I was old enough to sign the waiver. Wow! I still can't believe you just guessed that. You're really observant."

"I think I just notice things. I notice lots of things."

Harry looked up quickly, and their eyes met. All kinds of things passed between them during that interval of eye contact, all of them unsaid and all of them understood. Harry looked away and caught his lip between his teeth. Carlisle put his book aside. Slowly, so as not to startle him, he inched closer.

He put his hand on Harry's knee, and Harry flicked his eyes back to meet his. Carlisle looked at his lips, and then met his eyes again with a question. Harry answered it by placing his hand on Carlisle's shoulder and leaning in. Their lips met, and Carlisle encircled Harry's with his other arm. He squeezed his knee, and Harry moved his hand from his shoulder to his blonde hair with a sigh.

They kissed for some time, neither making any move to push things along. Harry's lips were soft and chapped, and he had a way of giving many short kisses rather than one long one that Carlisle found incredibly sexy.

He gently removed his hand from Harry's knee and placed it on his chest, levering him onto his back. Harry went willingly and without comment. There was a moment to adjust their legs, and then Carlisle went back to exploring Harry's lips and tongue. He felt Harry hugging his ribcage with his knees and reveled in the sensation of a warm body beneath him.

Harry's was soft, but the longish strands began tangled in his wedding ring. With a laugh, he paused to remove it. When he had set it safely on the night table and lay on top of Harry again, Harry's eyes were warm and amused.

"I can't be the only one that found that just a bit ironic."

Carlisle smiled and removed his shirt instead of answering. Harry also undressed without hurry or ceremony, and then got under the covers. Carlisle knew that this was the turning point. He made his decision and joined Harry beneath the covers.

Harry shivered when he began to stroke and explore his body between kisses. "You have cold hands."

"Sorry," Carlisle whispered against his lips.

"It's okay; I know you can't help it."

Carlisle paused for an imperceptible second. What did that mean? But Harry shifted his hips against his and he forgot what he was going to ask. Instead, he started wondering how on earth he was going to get out of bed in order to grab the condoms and some kind of lubricant from the bathroom.

Finally he tore himself away and sprinted to the bathroom. He didn't care if it made him look desperate. Harry was addictive, and he didn't like to be apart from him unless he had to be.

Harry was grinning at him when he returned. He got into bed and kissed the grin away. They collaborated to make the necessary preparations, and then for the first time in a very long time, Carlisle began to make love to a human being. It didn't take long before things started to get intense, and his body began to absorb some of the heat Harry's body was radiating. Harry was so hot he felt feverish, and when Carlisle rolled so that Harry was on top, he felt beads of sweat on his back as he helped brace him.

Harry was a surprisingly quiet lover. Carlisle had to rely on changes in his breathing to gauge his response to various things he did. It took a while, but they finally found the perfect rhythm and pace to achieve mutual ecstasy. Carlisle gloried in the surprising tautness of Harry's musculature, and began to notice a map of faint white scars as he watched Harry moving on top of him.

Realizing as he neared orgasm that he had done nothing to facilitate Harry's, beyond the obvious, he grabbed hold of him and hoped that he was doing something right. Harry began to groan and quickened his movements. His eyes were closed for much of their lovemaking, but he opened them then and met Carlisle's eyes.

He then leaned forward and braced his hands on either side of Carlisle's head to obtain better momentum. The result was powerful. After only a few minutes of this and the sight of Harry rapidly approaching release, Carlisle had no choice but to come. He groaned and bit his wrist, feeling Harry's body clench tightly around him as he also came.

Harry flopped onto his chest, breathing heavily. Carlisle weakly wrapped his arms around him.

After a while Harry found the strength to roll off of him and lie beside him. Carlisle turned onto his side and stroked his black hair away from his face. Harry's temples were damp, and his smile dazzling.

"Well, that was not how I pictured this day starting," Carlisle joked. Harry laughed.

"It's only five in the morning, too. We have the rest of the day to see what other unexpected things we do."

"If they are anything like this, I am game."

~000~

The remainder of the time Carlisle spent there was with Harry. It was as though that one night opened some kind of floodgate of loneliness, and he couldn't bear to be away from him for more than an hour. This made hunting difficult, but he made an effort to eat something every day, even if it was just a snack. He didn't want to slip up and get hungry while he was in the middle of having sex with Harry. There was no knowing what he might do.

When it was time for him to return home, he attempted to leave for an entire day, but was continually sucked into physical escapades with Harry. It was actually amazing how much sexual energy Harry had for a man over thirty, not that he looked his age.

Finally, he managed to say a proper goodbye, and started the long trek back to civilization.

When Esme asked him how his vacation was, he answered like he usually did. For some reason he didn't want to tell her about Harry. It wasn't that he felt guilty, but rather that he wanted to keep Harry, even the memory of him, to himself.

He was happy to be with his family again, but every once in a while he would find himself thinking about Harry. He wondered if he would see him next year.

~000~

Harry moved back to civilization and met a clerk at a sporting equipment store named Jude. They hit it off, and started dating (much to the disapproval of the other members of the small town) shortly afterwards.

But now, late at night when Jude was working a night shift, Harry would find himself thinking about Carlisle instead of Marcus.

~000~

End Three Weeks

Note: Hopefully this was less shocking than "Pear Tree" ;)


End file.
